Walk the Line
by reignofdreams
Summary: Bucky breathes, clenching his flesh hand into a fist to hide its slight trembling. "The difference—the only thing that matters here and now—is that as me, I choose whose blood I do and don't have on my hands. I choose what lines I cross. And there ain't any way I'm givin' that up again."


_**Based on a conversation I stumbled upon (and agree with) over on Tumblr about Bucky always having the **_**potential**_** to become the Winter Soldier. Steve was always his compass.**_

_**I wrote this at 4am last night, went to proof it this evening and ended up tacking on another 1,000 words. Go figure.**_  
_**Disregards Coulson becoming Director because the conversation went better in my head between Fury and Bucky.**_

* * *

Bucky stalks through the halls of SHIELD headquarters, his scowl and tensed figure sending agents scrambling wordlessly out of his way. He's well aware of the frustration and hostility he's radiating right now, but he doesn't care in the least. Eleven months. Nearly a year since he turned himself in, Fury allowing him to leave SHIELD custody as long as he attended therapy with a SHIELD psychologist twice a week and stayed completely out of combat situations until otherwise cleared.

It was fine in the beginning, he wasn't particularly eager to jump back into the fighting when he was still piecing his life back together. But his memory is back now (mostly) and the nightmares and flashbacks have decreased (considerably) and Bucky is done waiting around for Fury's OK. Steve's been out in the field more times than Bucky can keep track of in the past eleven months and every time, it gets harder and harder to keep from charging out of the tower with a rifle and his knives to watch Steve's back from the nearest available rooftop.

Steve has practically non-existent survival instincts, and Bucky's worry has only been further justified by the numerous times Steve comes back to their apartment in Avengers Tower with gashes and bruises that even _his_ super healing needs time to tackle.

Just the other day, Bucky watched a live feed from the living room couch as some bot lackey of whoever the villain of the week was knocked Steve down hard from behind. Bucky's pretty sure he stopped breathing altogether until Steve struggled up a minute later, shaken into consciousness by a concerned Nat. Even then, Steve had returned that day wincing and clutching his middle. The bruise was gone the next morning, but the fractured ribs took another two days.

That was the last straw and Bucky gathers every ounce of anxiety and concern and frustration he felt wrapping Steve's injuries, channeling it into a truly righteous fury as he storms into the Director's office, slamming the door shut behind him.

"This is bullshit! Why the hell haven't you cleared me yet?"

Fury looks up from the file in front of him, single eye conveying every ounce of unruffled calm the man seems to effortlessly maintain. It only irritates Bucky further.

"Sergeant Barnes, from the reports I've received, I just don't think you're ready to be back out in the field," Fury replies coolly. "I think there are issues that you have yet to address in your sessions, and I don't want a man in combat who is a danger to everyone around him."

Bucky winces and then glares because that's a load of crap. The first thing they did when he turned himself in was make sure that HYDRA hadn't left behind any subconscious triggers. He refused to let Steve near him until they'd made absolutely sure, even going so far as letting some psychic professor root around his brain for a very uncomfortable few hours. No, Bucky knows what this is really about.

"You people just don't get it do you? I'm not some shrinking violet that needs to be psychoanalyzed and coaxed back into the light. There's no dual personality lurking inside me just waiting for some opportune moment."

Disbelief is written clear on Fury's face. "Do you really expect me to believe that seventy years in HYDRA's grip didn't leave its mark?"

Bucky thinks about the agony of the mind wipes and conditioning and coming out of cryo, thinks about waking up from nightmares of helplessness and rubber in his mouth and the terrifying feeling of nothing. Thinks about the days when he's so exhausted from remembering blood and pain and cold that he just wants to curl up with Steve in their bed and shut out the world forever. But he's been talking to Steve and Sam and Nat, and even the shrinks have all been over that with him. He knows that's not what's keeping Fury from giving him the all clear.

"What do you expect me to say? That the blood on my hands keeps me up at night? That I'm terrified the Winter Soldier will take over again? I've got news for you, pal. We all have demons, and these sessions are to vet my sanity, not my sins. Hell, there's plenty of shit I've been through that I'd happily forget for the rest of my long unnatural life. But if you and your shrinks are waiting for me to spiral into a guilt-riddled confession about the people I killed, or that I'm repressing some killer instinct out for SHIELD blood, you'll have a long time to wait."

Bucky takes a deep settling breath, gathering his thoughts.

"I hate that innocent people died because of me, that those bastards erased everything I was and used me as some mindless weapon they could just point and shoot. But the fact is I was a killer _before_ I was the Winter Soldier. It may have been on Uncle Sam's orders, but that don't change the fact that I did things that hardened my heart a long time a ago. _I_ made the tough calls that good people, people like Steve, wouldn't and _shouldn't_ have to make. Becoming the Winter Soldier just honed the skill-set I already had."

Fury leans forward, folding his hands carefully on the desk in front of him. "This isn't exactly putting my mind at ease, sergeant. Are you telling me you _are_ the Winter Soldier?"

"Yes. No! Fuck!" Bucky cards his fingers through his long hair, frustrated as he tries to find the right words. "Not in the way you're thinking. The Winter Soldier can't really be considered an individual. There's nothing unique about him. The Soldier is just…me, but blank. I remember now what the Soldier knew then. The training, the skills, the focus…I remember all of it and I have no problem using that knowledge. The difference between me and the Soldier is will. He was a mindless weapon, used and stored away as necessary. No say and no basic human instinct but fear and survival."

Bucky breathes, clenching his flesh hand into a fist to hide its slight trembling. "The _difference—_the only thing that matters here and now—is that as me, _I choose_ whose blood I do and don't have on my hands. _I choose _what lines I cross. And there ain't any way I'm givin' that up again."

There is silence when he finishes, the tension of the moment hovering and making Bucky grit his teeth against the need to do something about it. They both just continued stare the other down, refusing to give any ground or break the silence.

Fury eventually relents and asks, "And what if I said the only way we could clear you was if you signed on with SHIELD?"

Bucky scoffs. "Frankly I'd tell you to, respectfully, go fuck yourself. After what HYDRA put me through, right there under SHIELD's nose for _years_, there ain't a thing you could say that'd convince me to join your organization."

Fury sighs, and Bucky takes that to mean he expected that answer.

"I've done a lot of shit for a lot of different people and reasons," Bucky says. "And if I could undo a lot of it, I would. I'm done doing what other people want me to. As long as the choice is _mine_, the only one who has any right to ask something of me is Steven Grant Rogers."

And isn't that the heart of it? It's always _been_ Steve. Steve who's been his guiding light since the day they met down a filthy back alley in Brooklyn. The sickly waif who inspired Bucky with his heart of gold and will of steel, who triggered every ounce of protective instinct Bucky's ever possessed. Steve has saved Bucky so many times in so many ways, probably more than the punk will ever realize and Bucky would do absolutely anything for him.

"How can I trust someone with your abilities and your history not to turn on my people? How do I know you won't go back to being our enemy?"

Bucky shrugs.

"You don't. But that doesn't change the fact that I did and will go to hell and back for Steve. All I want to do is get out there and fight, because I don't trust anyone else to watch that punk's back as well as me. So long as Steve's with you, you've got me as an ally…within reason."

Whatever Fury's thinking is carefully hidden behind his flat stare and expressionless face, and Bucky is suddenly fed up with the whole thing.

"Look, I've excelled at exactly two things in my life: killing people, and protecting my best friend. So with all due respect, _sir_, either clear me or kill me. I'm done bein' people's science project."

He doesn't wait for Fury's answer, just turns and rips the door open. It slams against the wall with a satisfying thud, and Bucky hightails it out of SHIELD HQ. He still hates being around the organization, even though he knows HYDRA's been purged from its ranks. The place always has him on edge, senses hyper-alert.

By the time he exits the elevator in Avengers Tower, all he feels is a bone-deep exhaustion. He's done what Fury wanted, gone through therapy and played the perfect law-abiding citizen. Ball's in the Director's court now.

He makes for the nearest horizontal surface, flopping down on the couch with a groan and a creak of protest from his metal arm.

In the end it comes down to the fact that, when Steve is out in the field from now on, Bucky intends to be right there with him, cleared or not. It would just be a hell of a lot easier if he could do so without SHIELD throwing a shit fit and sending in the cavalry just to make sure he doesn't fly off the rails.

* * *

Steve walks in an hour later to find him sprawled out face-down on the couch, flesh arm dangling off the side. It's a ridiculously endearing sight and he kneels by the couch with a small smile, warm palm coming to rest between Bucky's shoulder blades.

Bucky's head turns and blue eyes peak up at him blearily as Steve gently kneads at the tense muscles in his lover's back. "Long day?"

Bucky grunts in confirmation, arching slightly to indicate for Steve's hand to move lower. Steve obliges, grinning when Bucky gives a low rumble of relief.

"Fury and his army of head doctors think I'm repressing some sort of dual-identity trauma or whatever," Bucky mumbles after a few quiet moments. "Don't think he wants to clear me until I break down about killing people or join his little band of suits to ease his paranoia."

Steve nods in understanding. They'd spent a lot of time in those first few months tiptoeing around each other, relearning old tendencies and picking up on all the new. It wasn't until four months in that Bucky had finally gotten fed up with Steve tiptoeing around the things he'd done as the Winter Soldier.

_"I'm not gonna shatter, Steve! I know what I did as their weapon—the people I killed, the wars I started—I know and I hate it. But you're not gonna trigger some killer personality if you mention it or whatever."_

_Steve stares at Bucky wide-eyed. "That's not…I didn't-"_

_"I know, Stevie," Bucky sighs, and he's so very tired. "But you can't keep saying it wasn't me either. Fact is it _was_ me. All of it. The same part of me that shot enemy soldiers without differentiating and blew up factories with people still in them. Only difference between the soldier and me is back then, I had a say in what I did and didn't do. HYDRA took that, along with every good thing I'd ever known until all that was left was pain and the mission."_

_Steve is silent for so long that Bucky's afraid something between them has been torn irreparably, and he braces himself for heartache and loneliness and-_

_And he's suddenly wrapped up in Steve's ridiculously muscled arms, face pressed to that strong chest and steady heartbeat…_

_And they're gonna be okay. It'll take some time yet, but they're gonna be okay._

"Wait, you're not joining SHIELD, are you?" Steve asks, drawing Bucky's attention back to the present.

Bucky snorts. "Hell no. Only orders I take any more come from you and _only_ you. Though I reserve the right to mutiny if I think you're being a stubborn reckless punk."

"Jerk," Steve chuckles and leans down to brush a kiss over Bucky's temple. "So did he give you an answer?"

Bucky shrugs sheepishly. "I may have told him he could kill me or clear me."

"Bucky-"

"And I may or may not have stormed out without waiting for an answer."

The slightly alarmed and very exasperated look on Steve's face has Bucky fighting back a chuckle. "It is what it is. I said my peace."

Steve just sighs in feigned annoyance. "What am I gonna do with you, Buck?"

Bucky lets a predatory grin grow and he shifts around so that he can draw Steve's mouth into a full, needy kiss. "I can think of a few things," he murmurs against soft lips.

Steve groans and pulls Bucky upright, settling between Bucky's spread thighs and pulling him closer until there's virtually no space between them. Bucky licks into Steve's mouth with growing enthusiasm, biting lightly on Steve's plush bottom lip as he feels Steve tug on his hair. The kiss is filthy and heated and Bucky knows that he'll do anything to protect this man, Fury's orders be damned. Then Steve slips his hand down past Bucky's waistband to palm at his ass, and the rest of Bucky's thoughts shift to focus on a whole different set of orders.

* * *

It's Coulson who comes by the next day. They're sitting side by side at the table in the communal kitchen with only Clint for company, the steady crunch of cereal and occasional yawn the only sounds to break the silence. Superheroes they may be, but morning people they most definitely are not (a fact which Sam gleefully mocks them for whenever he visits).

Of all SHIELD agents, Bucky likes Coulson best (Nat and Clint don't count). Coulson gives Steve a nod in greeting, ignoring Clint who's stretching an arm out to beckon him over with tired grabby motions.

"Director Fury has cleared you completely," he tells Bucky who perks up considerably. Beside him, Steve is already grinning.

"Seriously? Just like that?" Bucky asks incredulously. "No trying to coerce me into joining?"

Coulson nods, a small grin fighting to become a smile. "No need. He said he's quite clear on where your loyalties lie."

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky's waist, pulling him into a quick congratulatory kiss, Clint making gagging noises down the table. Bucky just flips him the bird and and turns back to Coulson.

"So I'm good to go?"

Coulson nods and Bucky feels a wave of relief sweep over him. He can finally be out there fighting side-by-side with Steve, protecting the man that means everything to him.

"I know you said no to SHIELD," Coulson adds, interrupting his train of thought. "But I wonder if you'd consider a different answer in regards to the Avengers?"

Bucky quirks a brow but doesn't immediately reject the proposal.

Saving the world and innocents is all well and good, a noble cause and the right thing to do and blah blah blah. Bucky doesn't care. Well, he cares but not enough to make this decision based on that. It may be selfish, but he thinks he's earned the right to be a little selfish. Natasha talks about red in her ledger, and on some level he feels a bit of the same. But his devotion has always belonged first and foremost to Steve.

Steve, who leads the merry little band of misfit heroes against whatever threat arises. And really, Bucky was always gonna go where Steve went.

"Small team that doesn't quite operate according to normal expectations?" Bucky grins, newly returned memories of the Commandos surfacing.

This group of willful, talented, and quite frankly crazy individuals isn't his old team. The days of charging in, guns blazing behind their shield-throwing captain, taking down Nazis are long gone…just a footnote in the history books that Bucky hasn't quite gotten around to catching up on. This isn't the same, but Bucky isn't the man he was back then either. And that's perfectly okay. He has Steve. All the rest is neither here nor there.

"_That_ I can do."


End file.
